


the double meaning of "stilletto"

by lulla_lunekjaer



Category: The Ever Afters Series - Shelby Bach
Genre: Because It Needed To Be Done On Your Birthday, Broken Bones, Friendship, Gen, Happy Birthday!, High Heels, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I love my second triumvirate queer children, Semi-Canonical Character, you can guess how those two things are related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulla_lunekjaer/pseuds/lulla_lunekjaer
Summary: prompt: person a and person b are arguing about whether or not it's easy to wear high-heel shoes. person a, who's worn heels a lot, says it's heard, while b insists that it must be easy. so a challenges b to try heels. b accepts and immediately falls and breaks their ankle. after making sure b is okay, a bursts out laughing.





	the double meaning of "stilletto"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smolqueernerds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolqueernerds/gifts).



> for my beloved rain on their birthday <3
> 
> also I say I'm going to write more femslash and more Milange but then what do I do?????? write YET ANOTHER GEN FIC I'm a mess

“It can’t be that hard.”

Those five little words would quickly become legend, recorded in the annuls of their flat, Mildred Grubb’s diary, and Solange de Chateies’s twitter page. 

“It can’t be that hard,” Sebastian said, unaware that he was about to make history. “Plenty of women do it on a day to day basis.”

Solange lazily raised a single perfect eyebrow. “Why do you think we’re so good at it?”

“Even Millie wears heels occasionally, Sol!” 

Millie, who was sitting on the couch and rereading  _ Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, _ didn’t even look up. “Leave me out of this.”

“I’m just saying, wearing high heels isn’t that hard. It’s like standing on the balls of your feet. I can do that, natch.” Sebastian’s arms were crossed in a way that meant he was up to something. Solange’s rakish smile indicated she was taking the bait. 

“Okay, Seb. Let’s do it. You have small feet, you can fit in my blue ones, probably. In my closet, left side, I think,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of said closet. “Not the Louboutins!”

Sebastian returned shortly with the designated pair of heels and sat down by Millie’s feet. She sat up some, setting her book down and pulling her knees in closer. He pulled on the first shoe, which didn’t fit perfectly, but was close enough that if a woman of modest means and good taste in shoes but oddly-sized feet were to take a shining to them, they would do.

“You have to walk all the way around the room, from the couch to the table under the hatrack back around to the couch. Not just a few steps.” Solange had her game face on still, the one that meant she was going to win and that she was going to be very amused by the proceedings.

“Sol, where’s my phone? We should record this. For posterity,” Millie said, searching through the couch pillows for her cell phone. 

“When you fall, I’m putting it on the internet,” Solange said, passing Millie her phone.

“I’m not going to fall,” Sebastian said, slipping on the second shoe. “In fact,” he said, pushing himself up off the couch and onto the heels, “quite the opposite.”

Millie finally had her phone out and recording. “Whatever happens,” she said, “know that I am but a neutral observer.” 

Solange raised an eyebrow eloquently. To this day, no one knows quite how she did it, but her eyebrow was raised, and it was eloquent. 

Sebastian slowly took one step, then another, his back bent and arms flung out for balance. He took a third step, then four, five, six, straightening a little each time. He was by Millie’s desk (a vintage roll top), then the closet (lovingly hung with a rainbow flag and a handwritten sign: “no re-entry”), and then the bookshelf, where he paused.

“I bet I can get back with a book on my head.”

Solange just smirked while Sebastian unwittingly pulled the instrument of his demise -  _ The Phantom Tollbooth _ \- from the bookshelf at random. Placing it on his head, he began to walk back towards the girls.

The book, however, began to wobble, and Sebastian had paused to adjust it when Solange sat up straight and issued the last, fatal rule - “No hands.”

He sighed, held his head straighter, and took his last step, when there was a  _ crack _ , and an “oh,  _ shit, _ ” and suddenly boy, book, and stilettos were sprawled on the floor.

Looking back at the video of the incident, it was clear that Sebastian had over-corrected while trying to balance  _ The Phantom Tollbooth _ on his head and fallen, breaking his ankle just in time for beach season. 

“Oh god,” said Millie, throwing aside her blanket.

“Fuck,” said Solange, rushing towards him.

“Shit, shit,  _ shit _ ,” said Sebastian, who was trying and failing to move to a position that wasn’t most of his body on top of his ankle.

“Are you okay?” Asked Millie, quickly scrolling through her phone for the contact labelled “seb’s mom aka mrs. bruhm.” 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “What does it look like?”

“Sarcasm intact, injury non-threatening, good to know,” she said, sending a text to Mrs. Bruhm and stuffing her phone in her pocket. “Sol, you good?”

Solange, usually pale as a corpse, was very red and kneeling on the floor next to Sebastian. She was staring at her heels, now discarded in his haste to move off his ankle. 

“Solange?” Sebastian leaned forward, reaching for her face, “I’m fine, everything’s fi-”

Solange burst out laughing, falling next to his in her exuberance. “I- told you -” she sputtered between gasps of breath. “I told- you that you- would fall.”

Sebastian smirked, beginning to laugh along. “It was that damn book. If not for the book, I would have made it and you know that!” 

Millie felt a smile creep across her face despite her lingering apprehension. “And whose fault was that?” She collapsed on the floor next to her still-laughing girlfriend and best friend. 

Sebastian let out a long sigh. “You know, one of you is going to have to get up eventually. I don’t think I can do it on my own.” 

This set both girls off into fits of giggles that led into belly laughs, Sebastian joining in. 

After several more similar fits and nearly fifteen minutes, Solange and Millie managed to haul Sebastian to his feet and help him limp to the couch, where Millie’s other best friend, Google, determined that yes, Sebastian’s ankle was indeed broken. 

“I hate hospitals,” Sebastian said

“Millie,” Solange said, “you’re going to have to drive. I’m too busy basking in my glory and Seb’s obviously in no case to drive himself.” 

Millie nodded. “Of course.”

“Also,” she added, “this has to go on twitter.” 

 

**@thesnowqueen** : “it can’t be that hard” - my idiot best friend wolfgang sebastian bruhm, 7 june 2017  



End file.
